This Is Grief

Grief is strange.

I've had several decent days recently, where I felt sad here and there but managed to keep myself moving and productive. Yesterday, I actually felt good. I watched church online and then spent a couple of hours in bed with my hubby and dogs. A little later, Jake and I decided to finally start cleaning our house. We started in the guest bedroom that doubles as Jake's office. I am obviously aware that the bed in our guest bedroom is one from my grandma's house. What I didn't expect to see yesterday was an old pillowcase of hers lying on top of the folded sheets.

Seeing that pillowcase brought an array of emotions, and I was struck hard with the realization that my grandma really is gone. I was also reminded of nights lying in bed sleeping on that particular pillowcase. I pictured my grandma's house so vividly in my mind and felt her warm presence beside me. My insides then began to hurt, my chest became heavy, and the next thing I knew I was crying in the middle of the room. Jake was clearly taken aback as I was fine moments before. I told him about the pillowcase being my grandma's; he came over, hugged me, and allowed me to feel what I needed (he certainly gets brownie points for being the best).

While I cried for a little while longer, I kept working. I had made a commitment to clean up with my husband, and I wanted to hold up my end. It was probably a good thing I had something to do honestly because there's a likely chance I would've laid in my bed and mourned for the rest of the day had I not. Don't get me wrong, my heart still hurt, but having something to do--something to focus on--pulled me out of the all-encompassing grief.

If I'm not careful, the grief becomes consuming. I imagine you know what I'm talking about if you've experience grief yourself. It consumes every molecule in your body to the point where you stop caring about the things you used to care about. Life often feels dark and gloomy, and you wonder how it's possible to be excited about anything anymore. I find myself there in certain moments, but I'm trying to keep living my life as best as I possibly can. I know that's what my grandma would want.

My grandmother knew how to truly live her life. It wasn't always easy, but she did more that just survive. She thrived by enjoying herself, being grateful for what she had over disappointed by what she lacked, and loving immensely. She was kind and funny and goofy and prissy and wonderful. I still miss her so much, and what hurts is I've been missing her for years. Dementia does that--it takes someone away from you before they're even gone, and I think that's why my brain still has trouble grasping that her presence no longer resides Earth-side. For years, my grandma has been alive without truly being here. I grew accustomed to that knowledge, and now she's not here at all.

There's peace in knowing someone you love is in a better place. I know that she woke up in heaven to remember exactly who she is. She's not suffering or hurting in any way, and I try to focus solely on that most days. But other times, I remember her being my grandma--I remember her loving me, hugging me, talking to me, encouraging me. I remember her being exactly who she was, and my heart aches to know I've lost that from my life as it exist right now.

To be honest, there's not really a point to this post. It's simply me expressing my opinions on and experience with grief. Grief doesn't always makes sense. Sometimes it lingers like a bad rash, and sometimes it comes out of nowhere after having a few good days. It ebbs and flows like everything else in this life. Ultimately, if you're experiencing grief to some degree right now--whether it's a fresh, new wound or and old one you've been trying to heal for years--you're not alone. I see you, and I pray you find whatever it is you need to feel joy again.

"Grief never ends. But it changes. It's a passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor lack of faith. It's the price of love." - Unknown